Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/119

that pretty little creature over in the Petite Parisienne. That girl is driving me nuts. Did you ever hear the likes of it?" He turned towards the others-"I was dancing with her all evening and-pouf, nothing! Her mother was there and never took her eyes off all night. Not a chance. Not even a measly kiss!"

"What the devil has that to do with the matter?" Pierre demanded, in confusion.

"What?" Lucien jumped up from his chair. "Here I'm on hot coals, and you're babbling away about being syndicated! Just get me that dame-and to hell with the rest!"

The girls broke into a peal of laughter. Suzette's hilarity passed into a fit of unrestrained howls. Mary raised her hands and called on heaven to witness that she'd never seen the like of what was going on. Jeanne left her machine, drew herself up to all her imposing bulk, hands on hips, bosom thrust aggressively forward.

"So," she said, "we're not good enough for you! We're the dirt beneath your feet! We're worn-out clothes! Why you worthless Casanova!"

Her nostrils tensed, her cheeks flushed. She came threateningly closer to the cutter. Lucien clapped his hands, then spread his arms wide open. "Come hither, my sweet," he joked.

"Well, you gorgeous creature," Jeanne laughed, "now you're playing the cavalier! When you're hot and bothered you'll settle for me, is that it?"

"What are you talking about, my little pigeon? You know very well you're always closest to my heart," Lucien declaimed dramatically.

The conversation grew rowdier. Mary seemed to have lost control entirely, laughing at the top of her voice and swaying